


Untitled

by captainahmedica



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainahmedica/pseuds/captainahmedica





	Untitled

“Hey! HEY!!!”

My throat ached. I had been yelling for God knows how long. They must have not seen me here before they pulled off.

Who's _they_?

The people lugging me around in the back of this truck, of course. I can hear them every few minutes but I doubt they can hear me over the sound of the engine; it must be pretty loud up there. It had to be a truck. My eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to make out the walls and corners of the container—just about the size of the haul of an 18-wheeler. It was all empty except for myself, in a pile in the corner, curled up into fetal position.

The floor was surprisingly warm but the air was cold and unforgiving. It whistled as it blew in through tiny cracks along the edges of the container. That, in addition to the rocking and the bumps and potholes we hit every so often, told me we were traveling pretty fast, presumably down a highway.

The problem was, I didn't know who was driving. I didn't know where we were going. And I didn't know how I ended up here.

...I had an idea about how I might have ended up here.

Having been homeless for a few weeks, I had been sleeping in little nooks and crannies where I wouldn't bother anybody. But I couldn't remember falling asleep in this particular cranny. In fact, I didn't remember anything that might have led up to me falling asleep here. It wasn't even a blur—it was like it never happened.

The one moment, I was talking to my sister who stopped by and gave me a prepaid phone to use until I could find a job to pay for my own. The next, I find myself in this truck, going who knows where, with nothing but the clothes on my back and the lint in my pockets. Could be worse. Then it hit me. The phone!

My hand patted one pocket after another searching for a rectangular bump, but nothing. I was literally only with my pocket lint. My wallet, and what little was in it, was also gone. Had I been mugged? Kidnapped?

As if they had heard me, the truck slowed to a stop and the engine shut off, leaving the container eerily quiet. My heart started beating faster at the possibility of my being kidnapped and my breathing grew shallow. I made myself as small as possible in the corner. Maybe if I close my eyes for long enough, I'll wake up.

I heard them getting out of the cab and walking past me alongside the edge of the trailer towards the doors in the back. I felt sweat beads forming on my face. They stopped by the door and kept talking. A full minute passed of this and I could barely make out the words they were saying.

Curiosity got the best of me and I decided to army crawl my way to the door to get a better listen. I clung to the side of the trailer and slithered as smoothly as I could, praying I didn't stab myself with any loose—

“Ah!” My hand shot up to my mouth to silence myself and I exhaled sharply into my palm in response to what must have been a stray nail that cut right into the side of my left hand, under my pinky finger. No longer feeling the urge to shout expletives, I moved my hand from my mouth to the injured one and wrapped it tightly. The talking outside stopped.

Then, a terrible metal scraping sound. It must have been one of the latches holding the door shut because as soon as it was lifted, a thin stripe of light appeared down the middle of the two doors. I froze in fear.

“Wait! Not here, you idiot,” a deep voice spoke harshly, yet quietly.

“We gotta give him more,” a younger voice replied.

Give me _more_? More what?

“We can't do it here. It's too risky. 'Sides, you shoulda given him the right amount the first time, dummy,” the deep voice shot back

“He's awake?” a third voice joined, accompanied by footsteps approaching the two people already there. Then, the sound of a paper bag. “Here, they didn't have cream cheese, only butter.”

It sounded like we were at a rest stop. Right on cue, my stomach growled a bit. I haven't had a good meal in a while, and a bagel sounded delicious.

“We think so, just heard somethin',” the younger voice responded.

“Alright... just... we'll figure it out later. He's not goin' anywhere. If we open it up now we're gonna have a problem.”

And with that, the three moved back up the length of the trailer and hopped into the cab. The engine turned over and we pulled back onto the highway quickly.

My head started to hurt. I scratched at my throat. I was parched. I could barely wet my chapped lips with my tongue feeling more like sandpaper against them than anything else.

I pushed myself up into a seated position, my back against the wall, and examined the cut on my hand. I could barely see a thing, but it felt wet with blood. Then, a thin strip of light flashed by and I saw my hand was two-tone: half olive-colored skin, half blood red. Another sliver of light showed the palm of my other hand was equally stained. A third light whizzed by and I realized it was the light from street lights peeking in as we drove by them, and then I remembered that they never re-latched the door, leaving it slightly open.

I shuffled to my knees and slid over to the door, finally rising to my feet when I decided I could lean against it for support. I pressed my eye against the small crack and saw darkness, dotted by dim street lights that lined the road. In the distant was a cluster of lights that must have been the rest stop we were just at. I wondered where we were as I couldn't make out any of the road signs—we passed them too quickly. I stood there for a while admiring the view, or lack thereof. Anything was better than the claustrophobic darkness of the container.

Thankfully, my hand was wrapped around a metal bar that was a part of the door's frame, because when we hit a bad pothole and the door suddenly swung open, had I not been holding on, well, let's just say my face would have been scraped clean off my skull and onto the asphalt.

In a rush of adrenaline, I grabbed the bar with my other hand and howled in pain both at the cut on my hand being stretched and at the sudden strain in my shoulders of holding my weight on a swinging door as we barreled down a highway at at least 80 miles per hour. With my weight, the door swung all the way open so that it slammed into the side of the trailer. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on for long, and it would be impossible to swing the door back shut now.

_Three..._

'This is fucking ridiculous,' I thought.

_Two..._

'Holy shit, holy shit, holy sh—'

_One!_

I let go and tried to land on my feet, perhaps idiotically, as at that speed there was no way I wasn't going to crash right into the dirt on the side of the road in a mess of rolling limbs. Somehow, I oriented myself and heard a high-pitched squeaking—the truck was stopping.

Then voices. Shouting. In what little light that colored the road, I saw silhouettes coming towards me. Running.

I scrambled to my feet and tried to break into a run when I felt a shooting pain in my ankle. I must have done something to it when I tried to land feet first. I looked over my shoulder and they were gaining on me. I couldn't stop. I limped into the darkness, hoping I'd find some kind of ditch or boulder or bush to hide behind.

Then, a shot, loud and piercing into the silent night. I wasn't hit, but I fell to the ground anyway, figuring I'd be a tougher target on the ground. I found a large bush and crawled up under it.

“HEY! Get back here!” came a shout that was far too close for me to be comfortable with. I held my breath and prayed they didn't have flashlights. I was afraid they might be able to hear my heartbeat. I'd always said figuratively how I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest at times, but this time I literally felt it pounding against skin like it was a ticking bomb ready to explode.

Footsteps crunched around me and I tried my hardest not to wince as the bolts of pain from my ankle grew fierce and unrelenting. They called out to me and I heard one of them loading their gun, the one that must have shot before.

“Told you we shoulda gave it to him...” the younger voice muttered.

“Shut up shithead, if it wasn't for you, the latch would never have been loose and the door wouldn't have swung open in the first place,” the deep voice was angry.

“Fuck, I don't see him anywhere,” the third, raspier voice joined in.

'Yes, please, just turn around and go back to the truck...'

“Well we can't just leave him out here! Fuck, this is all such a fucking mess. I knew this wouldn't end up well,” the deep voice groaned.

'Yes you can, please just leave me here, I'll be fine...'

There was a silence for a moment. My breath was still held and I didn't know for how much longer I could go.

But it was no matter, because I was suddenly ripped out from under the bush by my arm.

“Got him.”


End file.
